


Cruelty as a Lover

by somegunemojis



Series: Tender Mercies [32]
Category: Original Content
Genre: M/M, lover's spat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26302690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somegunemojis/pseuds/somegunemojis
Summary: What will you do to guard your tender, black little heart?
Relationships: Bettino Tahan/Ihab Rahal
Series: Tender Mercies [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893175





	Cruelty as a Lover

August, 2019 -- VR, Italia.

There’s something funny going on with the lights. Bettino isn’t sure if he’d just had a little bit too much ecstasy the night before, or if Ihab has managed to well and truly wring all the good sense from him, taken him apart achingly slowly on this lazy Sunday morning and put him back together in not-quite-right pieces, but whenever he glances at the sunlight pooling over the dark ink that covers Ihab’s shoulders, it seems like the vast array of negative space might flow off his skin and swallow the both of them whole, pitch darkness and something like peace. Peace, or whatever approximation Ihab is able to bow his neck to, the little he can tolerate in his poorly managed quest for freedom. Poorly managed, but gloriously lived. 

He watches Ihab’s hand creep up his thigh with fingers hot like brands, and his thumb settles across his hipbone and traces the line of it back and forth. There’s a white snake that Bettino inked himself there on his hand that almost seems to come alive and slither with the slow stroke of his thumb, the shift of tendon and bone that he knows so well by now. His cheek is pressed to Bettino’s other hipbone, and when he shifts his gaze to meet with pale eyes that eat just as much light as the dark tattoos, Ihab licks his lips with an indescribably smug air, and gives him a smirk that he can’t help but return in kind. 

That he answers the expression with a mirror of it emboldens Ihab, and he slides up his torso with a delicious stretch of skin and sinew, nearly languorous in its execution, until his lips are pressed to his collarbone, and then his Cheshire grin with all his perfect teeth is centimetres from Bettino’s bare throat. Neither of them move for a moment, and then Ihab opens his mouth, and Bettino already knows that he’s in a lot of trouble. 

“Do you love me?” The question is almost self-satisfied, sing-song. Ihab thinks he’s playing a game, and he thinks he’s playing to win, so he whispers it against Bettino’s throat like it’s an opening serve in a game of tennis. His spider-like fingers trail up Bettino’s side as if to punctuate the question. Surely, he imagines he’s joking-- if he didn’t think he was joking, it would have fallen out of his mouth like an accusation. 

Bettino doesn’t hit it back. Do you love me? Ihab asks, like the answer should be easy. It’s a yes or no question, but neither of those could ever be good enough. Every ounce of humor drains from him, and his fingers that had been trailing up Ihab’s spine stop cold right between his shoulder blades, as he stares down at the impish smile spread across plush lips. Do you love me? 

The right answer, Bettino knows, the right answer would be a clever little line, a brush off to ignite Ihab’s temper that he can smooth with another kiss to the corner of his mouth, or by tangling his fingers in Ihab’s hair and pulling. The truth, if he were to let that fall, would be a simple yes. It would be a yes, and he wouldn’t have to elaborate but he could anyway. He could talk about how much he loves to listen to Ihab mutter to himself as he clicks away on his laptop, and he could tell him how much he loves to watch him wake in the mornings, cranky as all hell, and he could tell him how much he loves to spar with him. He could tell him he loves the color of his eyes, and the sound of his voice, and the way that his hands always feel warm when they press against his cheek, or the nape of his neck, or the last floating rib at his side. His adoration for the flare of his temper, the silk of his seduction, the fierceness of his rare passions. The truth, he knows, could never be good enough. 

It’s with an almost placid stillness that he cools his tone, and presses a cold hand to the nape of Ihab’s neck, and he lies to him. “No,” he says simply, knowing damn well that if Ihab wanted to open up his eyes and let himself see the truth and flay the both of them with his tongue, he easily could. Bettino Tahan is not a man of bold faced lies, and he’s never been able to pull one off with Ihab. 

Confusion darts across the younger man’s face, like he can’t quite believe Bettino would be so abrupt in shutting down his little game. He raises a brow, and then leans closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth, and then to his lower lip, soft little things he’s picked up from Bettino. Tricks, as if he were a dog. They set his nerves alight and his heart pounds in his throat, because he knows that’s Ihab’s way of asking: _are you sure? Look at these things that you have taught me, the tender way we touch and let ourselves be touched. Are you sure?_

He gives him another chance to play, to brush this off. Ihab opens up his pretty little mouth and lets the words slip out like the fall of silk against skin, brushing against his mouth. “Will you ever love me?” He asks, like he hasn’t just hammered another nail into the coffin of one Bettino Tahan. 

It’s another chance to play. Bettino could rib him, he could brush him off. He can’t make himself squeeze out the words, because he isn’t a creature that was made to joke about these kinds of things. He could tell him the truth, he could whisper ‘always’ and watch Ihab reel back as if he’d been struck, and then turn his venom back to Bettino because he’s afraid of whatever he thinks that truth implies. He opens his mouth to do just that, but a sliver of restraint takes hold in his throat and what comes out instead is a long, steady sigh, and a soft, “no.”

With every inch of their skin pressed close, Bettino can feel him tense like he’s getting ready to roll off of him, or start swinging. Their faces are still pressed close, lips brushing with every movement, and his eyes are narrowed as he watches his _lover_ flat out lie to him. And he can see the spark of realization in his eyes, when he catches him in that lie. When he thinks about it and he notices every little tell that Bettino has, the minute flicker in his eyes that are soft and brown and tired in the early morning light, despite how frigid he’d made his voice. He watches as Ihab grits his teeth and swallows and leans away, and he holds his breath. 

A myriad of expressions cross his face, confusion to disgust to fear, anger thrumming beneath them all. He can recognize this truth, at last: when Bettino had said he doesn’t love him, and would never, he’d been lying. Bettino knows he won’t want to and is perhaps incapable of examining that any further, lest he dig down to the bottom and realize that this game isn’t a fucking game at all. They both know enough to know this: once the game is over, there’s no reason to stay. So Ihab just sits up and glares down at him, hands pressed against Bettino’s chest and his knees on either side of his waist, and he hisses, “Well that’s one less thing to worry about, isn’t it?” because he’s never known how to lose gracefully, and he won’t start now. 

Bettino’s hands slip from Ihab’s back as he sits up and they settle on his bare thighs. One less thing to worry about-- nothing to worry about at all, Rahal, if you still really think this is just a game. His chest feels like a great empty cavern, with that steady, maddening drip-drip-drip that he can never find the source of. He can never stop the running. His voice sounds soft when he murmurs back, “Yeah, it is,” and that’s the end of their conversation. 

Ihab rolls off of his bed like he’d lit a fire under him, and he stalks off to the shower, and tries to scrub away every little mark of love Bettino had left on him.


End file.
